Remember in elementary school when you used to have to write about what you did over the Christmas and/or Summer break? Mine was always like; I watched cartoons and saw my family. Times were simpler then. Now, the mere thought of having unlimited amounts of free time gives me anxiety. It’s as though I need a detailed itinerary for my vacation so I don’t feel like a complete bum. I tired my best to not have expectations for my 2 week staycation. I got some writing
(very little) done, attended a writing workshop, slept in till 8am (I know, I’m such a rebel), binged watch Master of None for a second time, saw Good Will Hunting for the first time (now I’m obsessed with Boston boys with abandonment issues), played the lotto (spoiler alert: I didn’t win), went on two hikes, went to a museum, and ate like crap.
Oh my God who am I?! An adult? Fuck!* how the hell did that happen? I should have drank everyday and made bad decisions. Well I did drink almost everyday but all my decisions were responsible. What a waste of time! I used to struggle with how to be an adult and how I believed they should look and act. But it looks like I’ve already cultivated that magical healthy balance. Being an adult in 2016 is; watching spongebob but also knowing how to balance a check book. Wait, that’s a terrible analogy no one knows how to balance a checkbook. Tangets. Sorry. I guess I shouldn’t judge myself for how I spent my vacay. Because you know what? That’s how the fuck you vacation……as an adult.
*I can say fuck now because I’m an adult.